


Always something to navigate through

by redsnake05



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: First Time, M/M, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-28
Updated: 2010-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On tour, everything gets found out, and the stuff that doesn't gets made up anyway. But tour is also a good time to try something new, and Bob finds out that things he'd always thought just don't matter that much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always something to navigate through

It wasn't the first thing that Bob noticed about Spencer Smith. That distinction went to the obvious - the way his hips jutted out with that fuck-me air, even while his face had that don't-fuck-with-me glare. Bob had heard about Panic from others talking about Pete's baby band, seen them once or twice in person, since The Academy Is... and Panic had joined My Chem for a few dates of their current tour. Spencer had always been perfectly put to gether and remote. The Spencer Bob was seeing this morning, though, rumpled and tired and wiped clean of snark by weariness, was different. Different even from the Spencer Smith behind the drums, who was all focus and fierce passion, but who never lost himself. Never stopped watching.

"You heading out too, Smith?" asked Bob, settling next to Spencer, who was leaning up against the gate out of the venue park. It was chilly, grey but not actively snowing, and most of the buses around were still and silent in the morning air. Bob's breath plumed in front of him in great clouds, and his fingers were tingling with cold even through his gloves. Bob watched Spencer straighten up from his weary slump, seeming to fumble for his public persona.

"Errands," Spencer replied. "You?" His smile was practiced and easy, but Bob thought he could see the strain in it. His hoodie was zipped right up, but the hood was down. Bob wanted to put a hat on him and pull it down over the hair that stood up awkwardly at the back, down over his ears.

"I need to find somewhere that sells health food. Frank's starting to sneeze, and he's nearly out of snacks, and I can't let him go out by himself or it'll be fucking bronchitis next," replied Bob. The wet, hacking sound of Frank's cough and the way he'd held his ribs this morning were worrying. Gerard had been up most of the night, too, pacing and smoking and drawing, and he'd looked smaller than usual this morning, curled around Frank in his bunk, with a little line between his eyebrows, even asleep.

"That's nice of you," said Spencer. Bob looked at him sharply, but could detect no trace of mockery or anything other than tired agreement in his voice. He looked like he meant what he said. He looked like he needed someone to do something nice for him.

"Is someone dropping off a car for you? Do you want to share?" asked Bob. He had been looking forward to a quiet morning out by himself, but something about Spencer and the way his stance was tense and tired itched at him, the way Frank's sniffle last night had done. He wanted to fix it. Besides, Spencer Smith played the drums with heat and passion; they could always talk about music.

Spencer's gaze raked over Bob, and Bob was suddenly conscious of the dark circles under his eyes, and his rumpled clothes. Fuck it.

"Can you navigate?" asked Spencer, face unreadable under the weariness. "Cancel your car. I'll drive."

Bob smiled. He could navigate. He could find his way through anything, make it work just how it should. "I'll call," he said, digging his phone out of his pocket and watching as Spencer shifted from foot to foot, finally leaning back against the wall and crossing his legs at the ankle, the top foot jiggling slightly. He kept his head down and his hands shoved in his pocket as Bob talked. Snapping his phone shut, Bob turned to Spencer and smiled, feeling it stretch over his skin.

"I have to find some kind of health food store," he said, "and maybe some kind of artists' supply store. What about you?" Spencer shrugged, hands still shoved deep in his pockets.

"Some food," he said. He looked at Bob, consideringly, as if unsure whether to say anything more. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. "A bookshop," he finished.

"Any particular kind of food?" asked Bob. He wasn't usually so curious, but something about Spencer made him want to know. "Frank is hard to feed, and people steal his food, even if he hides it. He hates hiding it, anyway."

"Does he know you're going shopping?" Spencer asked, tilting his head.

"No, he's asleep now. He was awake coughing quite a bit last night. He needs to sleep more."

"I need to buy things to make Supersonic Spaceship Treats," said Spencer.

"What?" asked Bob. He watched Spencer shrug, then smile just a little, straightening up.

"Here comes the car. The Spaceships will become obvious when you see the ingredients. Just... we try to keep Brendon away from sugar, mostly. But sometimes it's the only thing."

Bob settled into the passenger seat and took the directions Spencer offered him, extracting the papers from a pocket of his jeans, even though they looked far too tight to hold so much as a card. Bob blinked at them a few times before opening it and refolding it so he could read it as Spencer fiddled with the heater, humming to himself as he got it working to his satisfaction. Bob found the first place, quickly plotting out a route. He lifted his eyes and found Spencer watching him, a real, wide smile stretching his lips and making his eyes light up. Bob's breath caught, just a little.

"You've got everything sorted out," stated Spencer, looking over at the route Bob was tracing, and his voice radiated happiness. Looking up, Bob saw him smile, wide and bright. Bob didn't know Spencer well, but he had the feeling he didn't often smile like that. He smiled back, wide and pleased. Spencer being happy made it easy for his worries to fade too.

"Yeah, you too," Bob answered. "Let's go kick some looking-after-our-bandmates-ass, hmm?"

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Andy wrapped his hands around his cup of coffee, heat seeping through into his fingers, and stared out the bus window into the grey morning light. He could see Bryar and Smith leaning up against the gate that separated the venue from the road outside, and wondered idly what they were doing there. The bus was cold, with that empty feeling it had when everyone was asleep, tossing and turning restlessly. It was too early for speculation. He took a sip of his coffee, watching the low wisps of fog around the other buses, the dirty slush piled in the corners of the huge parking area. He watched the two of them climb into the rental car when it pulled up, letting it idle for long moments just by the gate. It crouched there, tiny and red against the tired grey and black of the car park and the road outside. His fingers ached suddenly for a paper and pencil, wanting to capture the feeling of a couple of people wrapped up against the elements, sitting together with a common destination.

The shuffle of feet behind him distracted him, and Andy glanced over his shoulder, smiling slow and happy as Adam half-walked, half-staggered forwards and into his space, plastering himself up against Andy's back and burying his face in the nape of Andy's neck. Making a happy, sleepy noise, Adam wrapped his arms around Andy's waist and relaxed into place.

"I have coffee," said Andy, feeling lighter and happier, even though Sisky was heavy and digging his chin into Andy's shoulder. He tilted his head back, but all he got was a mass of Adam's hair in his face. "If you open your eyes and move a little, I'll totally let you have some," he coaxed.

"M'kay," Adam slurred, fingers twitching on Andy's belly. "Too sleepy. Sit down, lemme sit on you."

"You want to sit on my knee?" laughed Andy. He loved Adam like this, fuzzy and still blurry with sleep, kind of pliant and quiet, with grabby fingers and hooded eyes.

"Mmm," hummed Adam, herding Andy towards the sofa with little tugs and nudges. Andy held the coffee out at arm's length as Adam curled up on him. Opening one eye, Adam peered up at him, as if unsure about whether it was safe to engage with the day.

"Kiss first?" Andy asked.

"Coffee," said Adam, a smile curving his lips. Andy laughed again, quietly. The inside of the bus seemed closer and warmer now, just with the low murmur of their voices and the heat where their bodies pressed together. Andy handed over the coffee, sliding his hand up inside Adam's hoodie instead, rubbing all over the sleep-smooth skin of his belly. Adam made a pleased noise round his first mouthful of coffee, but Andy liked to think that the noise was for him, because of the way his knuckles dragged across his skin, and the way his other hand was buried in the hair at the nape of Adam's neck, gently scratching and stroking. "You make the best coffee," mumbled Adam, turning his head to talk into Andy's neck as his lips, heated by the coffee, brushed over the skin of his throat.

"It brings the boys to the yard," agreed Andy, and Adam bit him lightly, huffing into Andy's throat. "Kiss now?" he asked. Adam smiled and tilted his head up, opening his lips under Andy's. They were a little dry, but he pulled back and licked them before leaning forward again, pressing Andy back into the cushions. He tasted like coffee, and was still slightly uncoordinated under Andy's hands and mouth. The way he opened to the kiss made Andy's breath catch, his hands pulling tighter on soft skin, easing Adam closer till they curled around each other as tightly as they did when sleeping in the bunks.

Andy moaned softly into the kiss, the slick wet heat of tongues and the bite of teeth in his lower lip turning him on quickly. He hadn't been doing this with Adam for long, though he'd wanted to for years. It still had a dreamlike quality, whenever Andy lost himself in the way Adam wrapped them together, the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers splayed possessively on Andy's skin. He'd thought about being with Adam for so long, and still couldn't quite believe it. Adam nipped at Andy's lip, pulling back and grinning bright and happy.

"Good morning, Andy," he said, licking his lips. His smile was open and warm in the coolness of the morning. Andy loved the way Adam said his name when no one else was around. He loved it, even though he knew Adam would draw back just a little, when everyone else woke up. Then they would laugh and joke and call each other Butcher and Sisky, but here, pressed against each other and palms flat on each other's skin, the name was special. The itch for a pencil and paper came back, and Andy wanted to capture the two of them with their heads pressed together, heading in the same direction.

Adam got them both more coffee, and a bowl of cereal each, then they curled back up on the couch together. Bill rolled his eyes at them as he staggered out of the bunks, slumping onto the kitchen bench seat. Mike trudged up the stairs from outside minutes later, fresh from a night spent fuck knows where, bringing in the smell of snow and a blast of cold air.

"Dude," he said, "I totally saw Bob Bryar and Spencer Smith getting into a rental together. What the fuck is up with that?"

Andy snorted into Adam's neck and stretched his arms out, ready to get up and get dressed. The morning stillness had completely faded now. Adam made a protesting sound and grabbed at him as he slipped out from underneath.

"Butcher, don't go," he said. "I was all cozy, and who's gonna keep me warm now, huh?" Andy ruffled his hair and grinned, heading for the bunks.

"Come and get dressed with me," he invited.

"Fuck, guys, keep it down in there," groused Bill. "Chizzy's still asleep."

"We'll be really quiet, won't we, Sisky?" said Andy. Adam just smiled at him and followed.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Bob waited for Spencer backstage the next night. Panic was just winding up to a finish, and The Academy was drifting round, Siska and Mrotek with their heads bent together while Carden and Beckett argued. Bob stood with his back to a wall and watched Spencer play. Spencer's mouth opened as he concentrated on his kit and he was sweaty with exertion.

Bob saw less of the fuck-me hips and don't-fuck-with-me glare when he saw Spencer Smith now, after their shopping expedition of the day before. Well, he didn't really see them less, because they were always there, but now he saw them for a mask Spencer put on to hide the exhaustion around his eyes and the way his hands clenched and released in tension and worry. Bob wasn't fooled by the hips or the glare. He looked at Spencer, instead, and read the tiredness and determination in every line of his body. He had seen Spencer gather up his bags and his public self, when they got back from shopping. He had watched him slip back into something different, more distant.

Bob shifted from foot to foot and watched Spencer push the hair out of his face and gather up his sticks, another successful set done. Spencer smiled at Wilson and laughingly fended off Urie's grabby hands. Spencer's own hands were gentle as he wrapped them around Ross's bony shoulders and folded him close in a hug. Bob felt like he was intruding on something intimate, like he should look away, but Spencer pulled back and smiled and the moment passed like it had never been. There were just four guys walking off stage, and Spencer Smith had an unruly piece of hair sticking up at the front and looked sweaty and elated under his habitual smirk.

"Smith," said Bob, stepping forward as Spencer came off the stage. "I need to run some errands tomorrow. Gerard's been complaining about his pencils. Want to come?" Gerard hadn't really been complaining, but Bob had found three pencils snapped and discarded on the floor in the front lounge, and Gerard had been curled, tiny and vulnerable looking, on the sofa above them, while Mikey had looked pinched and more withdrawn than usual when he emerged from the bunks.

Bob watched as Spencer's eyes slid over each of his bandmates in turn, quickly over Wilson and Ross, lingering on Urie. As Bob watched, he thought he could maybe see something brittle in the laugh Urie was sharing with Ross. The way he was deliberately angled away from Wilson, and the way Wilson slid from the area like he had nothing to tie him there. The expression on Spencer's face slid, for just a second, out of that vaguely amused smirk he liked to paste on and into something a little darker, edged with frustration and concern.

"Yeah," agreed Spencer. "Errands." The look he turned on Bob was searching, making Bob conscious of the ache in his wrists and the tired lines he knew had etched themselves in around his mouth. The edge of concern was still there. Bob told himself it was for Urie, a remnant of Spencer's worry. "I could go with you."

"You want to navigate this time, and I'll drive?" he asked, falling into step beside Smith as he followed his bandmates towards their dressing room. Spencer took a moment to answer, and Bob glanced at his face and saw him frowning at Ross and Urie's backs. Bob could feel a frown starting on his face too, but then Spencer turned to him and smiled, and Bob found himself smiling back.

"Yeah, okay," said Spencer. "Got any particular art store in mind?"

"Something that's likely to stock things with a unicorn theme," said Bob, without thinking. Wincing, he raised his eyes again, hastily, hoping that maybe Spencer wouldn't have noticed. But Spencer wasn't smirking, just looking thoughtful. He sighed in relief.

"I think I can make that happen," Spencer said, finally. "Yeah, that'd be good." Bob reached out and smoothed down the spiky lock of hair. When Spencer turned his head, looking at him questioningly, Bob's hand brushed over his cheek just a little. Snatching his hand back, Bob cast around for something to say, something to draw attention away from the fact that he just smoothed back Spencer Smith's hair and touched his goddamn face. Spencer smiled, something like the one he'd given Ross as they came off stage, and Bob's breath caught, even as his fingers still tingled from the brush over Spencer's skin. Spencer's smile was wide and bright, and it lit up his face in ways that Bob wasn't sure he could adequately explain. He smiled back, and it wasn't fake.

Spencer looked like he understood Bob's intent, and the two slowed to a standstill outside the door to the Panic dressing room. Ross and Urie had already disappeared inside, leaving them alone, off to the side and out of the flow of people. Spencer's smile hadn't faded at all.

"Do you have a time in mind?" Spencer asked, tilting his head and canting his hips just a little. Bob dragged his gaze up, ignoring the insistent voice in the back of his mind that said invitation. He thought instead of the set tonight, and the likelihood of getting to bed early against the probability of Gerard hunched over and into himself in the tiny kitchen of the bus.

"You choose," he said, instead. Spencer considered carefully and Bob watched his face turn thoughtful. He wanted to reach out and smooth his thumb over the crease of the frown between Spencer's eyebrows, but he kept his hands to himself. After they agreed on a time, Spencer smiled once more, blindingly, and ducked into his dressing room, leaving Bob to wander in the direction of his own dressing room. He was thinking less of Mikey's uncommunicative silences and more about what Spencer's smile might look like if it was all he was wearing.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Andy found Adam sprawled over the ratty couch in the back lounge, limbs splayed wide and boneless, eyes drooping closed. When Andy sank down to kneel next to him, Adam smiled and tugged him forward with surprising strength. Andy opened his mouth under the pressure of Adam's lips, letting him in. The familiar high, thrumming pressure of the performance was still under his skin, jostled now by the less familiar rush of kissing and touching Adam like this. He pulled back from the kiss, knowing that he was smiling wide, probably goofily. Adam dragged his thumb over Andy's cheek and smiled back, no trace of sleepiness in his face now.

"Good show, Butcher," he whispered. "I watched you behind your kit."

"You've watched me behind my kit hundreds of times," said Andy, bringing his hand up to capture Sisky's and bring it to his lips so he could kiss over his knuckles.

"But before, I couldn't look at you, not really. Not the way I can now," Adam answered. "Then, we were Butcher-and-Sisky and I didn't know what you look like when you come." Andy groaned softly at his matter-of-fact tone, in contrast to the words. Adam's smile was sweet, almost wistful.

"And now that you do know?" asked Andy, knowing that his voice had dropped into a low growl. Adam tugged him forward into a kiss, deep and dirty. Their tongues met in a slow dance, and Andy couldn't stop the instinctive jerk of his hips against the couch when he felt teeth graze over his lower lip.

"Now that I know," said Adam, leaning back with his mouth red and wet from the kiss, "now that I know, I get to see you as part of Andy-and-Adam, and I was hard during the whole set, looking at you."

"Fuck," said Andy, fervently. He couldn't believe this, how was this even his _life_? Adam fucking Siska, spread out in front of him, all sharp angles and smooth skin, telling him these things. "How did I get so fucking lucky?"

Adam laughed softly, pulling Andy forward and kissing him again, just as dirty, making little noises into Andy's mouth. Kissing back, Andy tried to put everything he was thinking and feeling into the slow slide of his tongue, the twist of his lips. The first time Adam had kissed him, Andy had pulled back almost immediately, worried about the implications, terrified of how young Adam was, but Adam had fisted a hand in his shirt and whispered against his lips, _waited so long for this, you can't even know_. Adam had always been the one to make the next move between them, more fearless and forward than Andy could ever be. Adam was so adult in many ways, from long years of touring, but sometimes he had all the reckless bravery of a child. Andy smoothed a hand down Adam's chest, feeling his heart beating under his skin.

"It's my birthday soon," said Adam, pulling back again.

"I know," replied Andy. "What would you like, little soon-not-jailbait boyfriend?" Adam's grin was a wicked twist of his lips, punctuated by the slide of his hand down the fly of Andy's pants, firm and knowing against his cock. Gasping, Andy struggled not to push forward against the friction.

"Want you," said Adam, twisting on the couch and showing off every line in his body to Andy's gaze. "We haven't done that, and I want you. I want to fuck you, want you to fuck me" Andy moaned a little, overwhelmed and shoving forward to kiss Adam, hard. Adam's teeth dug a little too hard into Andy's lower lip and he groaned, simultaneously terrified and elated. They hadn't fucked, not yet; just handjobs and blowjobs and the slow rub and grind of their bodies. Andy opened his mouth, not sure what to say, but the door banged open and Mike and Bill practically fell through, arguing heatedly over something. They stopped when Bill saw Adam, still stretched out on the couch, Andy next to it.

"Hey, hey, none of that in the bus!" he screeched, grabbing Mike's arm. "Back me up, Mike Carden. Tell the Butcher to get his corrupting hands off my bass player until he's not jailbait anymore."

"Fuck, guys, you couldn't wait?" grumbled Mike. "Or at least lock the door?"

"Fuck you," said Adam. "Go and argue somewhere fucking else. I'm about to suck Andy's cock."

"TMI, Sisky," moaned William. "Sorry, but I have to stay and protect your precious, precious virtue now." He let go of Mike and flung himself over the back of the couch and rolled too far, with a helpful push from Adam's hands, ending up on the floor. Andy buried his face in his hands and then in Adam's shoulder.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

The diner was quiet this late at night in some city that Bob didn't recognise, though he was sure he should. It was big and spreading, with long hills rising and falling for them to walk up side by side with hands shoved into the pockets of their hoodies and hoods pulled low against the chill wind. They hadn't bothered looking for anywhere special, just the first place that was open and clean. Spencer's eyes were edged with shadows and Bob was more interested in those shadows than in figuring out what city they were in. They would be somewhere else tomorrow, anyway. The waitress was bored, and didn't know who either of them were, and that was good enough.

Bob and Spencer had been shopping the day before, huddled together into another rental car with Spencer reading off the directions and Bob driving. Tonight, Spencer had sought Bob out while MCR waited for The Academy to finish their set, and Bob had agreed to come with him in an instant. He hadn't even bothered to look at his bandmates to see if they were okay or if they might need him.

Bob pushed back his hood and raked his hands through his hair, watching as Spencer unwound his scarf and laid it out on the table before taking off his hoodie. Unzipping his own hoodie, Bob leaned back in his chair and read the menu slowly, mostly watching Spencer scroll through it instead.

"Pie, I think," said Spencer, finally, raising his eyes. "Have you decided, or are you not done looking at me?" Bob caught the challenging slant of his mouth and snapped the menu shut. The waitress appeared back at their table with thick, chipped white mugs and a pot of coffee in hand. She put the mugs down and poured in the coffee. Bob could already tell it was going to be strong and bitter on his tongue. She took out her pad and pencil, looking at them questioningly.

"I'm gonna let Spencer order for me," said Bob. "He seems like he has good taste." Spencer snorted and a blush crawled along the very top of his cheekbones, but he smiled up at the waitress with a touch more warmth than most people ever saw in him.

"I'll have the apple and blackberry pie," he said. His gaze raked over Bob, speculative and alive with laughter, and the waitress smiled back at him through her own tiredness. "Bob seems like a cherry sort of a guy, don't you think? Cherry, with French Vanilla ice-cream, and extra whipped cream." The waitress nodded and gathered up both the menus.

"Sure, we can do that," she said. "Just call me when you need some more coffee."

Bob listened to her heels click on the floor and looked at Spencer, whose hands were spread over the table. His smile had widened impossibly. He looked so happy and buoyant and Bob felt his skin prickle a little under the force of the smile. He wanted to see that smile on a naked Spencer in his bed. He would do anything to make Spencer smile, he knew. It wasn't the same sort of feeling he had towards his bandmates or the urgent need to fix them that was always there under his skin. When Frank coughed, or Gerard didn't sleep, then Bob would feel that too, like an itch or a weight across his shoulders. He wanted solutions, or, if they were too hard or impossible, then he wanted patches and stop-gaps and things to make it easier.

Bob didn't feel that need to fix Spencer. He watched him hold his band together and wanted to be the one standing there for Spencer to lean on when it was over, as much as it could be. He wanted Spencer in a way that was filthy, hot and twisted in all the best ways. He looked at Spencer again across the table, drumming unfamiliar beats onto the Formica surface, and wanted to fuck him to a thousand new rhythms. Bob wanted to wrap Spencer up in his arms and be the one to break him down and put him back together.

"I look like the sort who likes cherry?" he said, picking up his coffee with careful fingers.

Spencer smiled again, softer this time. "Sure," he said, easily. "You like being the one who gets to be careful and sensitive. Even though you try to hide that."

Bob couldn't help his look of surprise. It wasn't often people saw past his need to fix things and into past his need to take things apart and put them back together. Spencer pasted on a look of fake commiseration and patted Bob's hand with false sympathy. Bob took a deep breath and turned his hand over, capturing Spencer's fingers in his. Stroking his thumb over the palm, Bob felt the thrill of that little contact all down his spine.

"Would you like me to be careful and sensitive with you?" he asked, and he knew his voice was rough. Spencer bit his lip, and Bob focused on the skin trapped under the sharp whiteness of Spencer's teeth. His red lips looked shiny and inviting.

"I might want something a little more challenging," said Spencer, and Bob stifled a groan. He could nearly taste how that might go, and his fingers tightened on Spencer's hand as he imagined holding his wrists together and pressing him into a wall, or into the soft sheets of a bed. The waitress slid the plates onto the table with a soft clatter, and Bob looked away from Spencer and thanked her with a smile. She smiled back, looking from him to Spencer.

"Extra cream for you too, honey," she said, sliding Spencer's plate in front of him. "Enjoy it," she finished, and left them alone. Bob watched Spencer take the first bite, mouth closing over the fork and a tiny smear of whipped cream lingering on his lower lip. Spencer chased it with his tongue as he moaned a little, just softly. Bob shifted uncomfortably in his seat, stopping abruptly when Spencer opened his eyes again and looked straight at him. He looked sinful, and Bob's nerves were thrumming with anticipation, already imagining him pinned against the side of a bus with that tongue tracing over Bob's lower lip instead.

"Eat faster," said Bob. Spencer smirked at him and licked his spoon.

Bob watched Spencer eat in a state of aroused fascination. Each mouthful just got him hotter as he watched Spencer hollow out his cheeks over the spoon, or swirl his finger through the whipped cream and leftover juice on the plate and lick it off with long swipes of his tongue. The sweet and tart of his own slice of pie teased his tastebuds, making him think only of how Spencer would crumble under his fingers and mouth, how sweet his moans would be, muffled in Bob's skin. Finally, they both pushed their plates away and wrapped themselves back up against the chill outside.

They walked quickly, side by side, but not touching at all. Bob wasn't sure he'd make it back to the buses if he actually got to feel Spencer's skin. When they got there, Spencer didn't even ask, just slanted an unreadable look at Bob and leading him to his own bus. Bob caught him against the door, sandwiching him against the metal.

"You gonna invite me in?" he asked, bending his head close to Spencer's. Spencer's fingers found his beltloops and twined there, two points of heat on Bob's skin. Bob was already hard, just from waiting and anticipation, and he was pretty sure Spencer was too. He tilted his head up, and their lips just brushed. Exhaling into the scant space between them, Spencer tugged Bob even closer. His voice was light and teasing when he answered.

"Maybe. I'm late, even though Ryan extended my curfew when I turned eighteen." Blinking, Bob pulled back a little. He couldn't have heard that right. Eighteen? He shook his head slightly.

"Did you just say eighteen?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Spencer. "I turned eighteen in September. Can we get back to whether or not you're going to come in and fuck me in the front lounge, now?" Bob was relieved to see the bitchface in place, even as he reluctantly pulled back enough that Spencer was visible in the faint light.

"Eight-_fucking_-teen? Are you serious?" Bob asked one more time. He felt suddenly cold in the darkness, and Spencer looked suddenly vulnerable, head tilted back against the side of the bus. The curve of his throat was right there, waiting for Bob to take advantage of it. He realised that he would be taking advantage, if he went into the bus with Spencer and did even half of the things he'd been thinking of.

"Fuck yeah," said Spencer, and his voice had acquired an edge. "Is there some kind of problem? Because I sure as hell didn't think there was."

"You're eighteen," said Bob again, dimly aware that he sounded like a broken record. He stepped back from Spencer completely, shaking his head. "I can't do this," he blurted, turning and stumbling away into the darkness between buses. If Spencer said anything, Bob couldn't hear it over the rushing in his ears.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Andy sat at the little bench seat in the kitchen, sketchbook open on the table in a little pool of light. The carpark was quiet, for a change, all the parties and mayhem having wrapped up early for a change, and even Andy's bandmates were in bed. He dimly heard a thump and the murmur of voices outside the bus next door but he only lifted his head from the paper when the voices became a single voice, cursing loudly, followed by the thud of the bus door closing. He shook his head, not really interested in what could be troubling one of the Panic boys, and concentrated on his paper again.

The lines on the page weren't co-operating, not really, each image twisting into something darker and more edged with frustration than he intended. He wanted to capture two people, faces in the same direction, walking side by side. Every time, though, one of the figures lagged, or twisted away, and Andy couldn't work it through.

It wasn't that he didn't want to fuck Adam, or have Adam fuck him. There was no way he could say that, because there were very few things that he could safely say he wouldn't be open to trying with Adam, if it was something that Adam wanted. He wanted him anyway he could have him, spread out underneath him, or pressing into him on top, or side by side, tangled together in a knot of limbs. Andy was in no doubt that Adam was so far under his skin they were sharing nerve endings, but the actual mechanics of being fucked by another guy was not something Andy had really ever thought about. He was nervous and edgy, worried that he would fuck things up.

Looking back at his paper, Andy couldn't see what he was looking for, and turned over to a blank page. He buried his face in his hands and sighed. The seat next to him dipped and strong hands started rubbing along his shoulders. Andy turned his head slightly and looked at Adam, who still looked sleepy. Adam saw him looking and smiled, soft and slow.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," said Andy.

"I was cold," replied Adam. "I don't know how I managed to ever sleep without you."

"You had more room," pointed out Andy. "Maybe that made up for it."

"Was I wriggling and kicking again?" asked Adam, sounding contrite.

"No, I just couldn't sleep."

"Doing some drawing instead?" asked Adam. He turned the sketch book over before Andy could stop him, gazing at the night's pictures for a second before Andy got the book from him and snapped it shut. Sneaking a glance at Adam's face, Andy read anxiety and fear there.

"It's not-" he started, but Adam cut him off.

"Is that how you see us?" he asked.

"Fuck," said Andy. He wound his arm around Adam quickly, stopping him in his attempt to get up. "No, no. Stop." Adam subsided next to him on the seat, looking hurt and worried, and Andy's heart turned over. "Fuck, no, Adam. No. I love you."

Adam nodded slowly, and relaxed a little on the seat. Andy felt nearly sick, but gripped Adam close and focused on what he wanted to say. He didn't see them in the figures he had drawn, with one twisting away and trapped there, and the other clinging on and oblivious, but he wasn't sure how to say what the problem really was. He felt kind of hot and embarrassed, and hoped that maybe Adam would just forget that he was waiting for Andy to say something. But Adam's eyes were fixed on Andy's face, serious and intent.

"Before you," Andy started, then stopped, shaking his head. He wasn't sure how to get the words out, how to tell Adam something like this. He was twenty-two years old, he should be over these kinds of sexual freak-outs. "I don't know how to say this, even. I've never. You know." he waved his free hand and hoped that Adam would be able to put the pieces together. "With a guy. And I'm nervous, okay? Because it's you, and I want it to be great."

Adam pressed the tips of his fingers over Andy's mouth and smiled at him, shaky and relieved. "Really?" he asked.

"Yeah, really," sighed Andy. "Fuck, I've just felt so fucking stupid." He still felt stupid, like he should know what to do anyway.

"Hey," said Adam, leaning forward and kissing him gently. "I don't mind. I'm not some massively experienced manwhore either, you know." Andy opened his mouth a little, letting the kiss get a little deeper, a little wetter. The slow swipe of Adam's tongue over his lower lip was somehow both reassuring and inflammatory. Andy tilted his head obediently as Adam ran his fingers over his jaw and tugged him slightly, letting Adam set the pace between them. Adam pulled back just a little, tipping his head until their foreheads rested together. They breathed together for just a moment, then Andy saw the start of a mischievous smile form on Adam's lips.

"I totally promise to be gentle with you," he said, stroking Andy's cheek and trying to look soulful. Andy grinned. He might have known that Adam wouldn't be able to stay serious for long.

"Fucker," said Andy, shoving at him. Adam shrieked and clutched at him tightly. They both overbalanced and tipped onto the floor, Adam splayed out with Andy pressed up against him. Andy leaned forward the last few centimeters and kissed him, hard and hungry. He licked into Adam's mouth, feeling a moan vibrate in his throat. His legs wrapped tight around Andy's waist, Adam pushed up eagerly against him. Andy pressed him down into the floor, hands sunk deep into his hair and tongue intent on exploring his mouth.

Lifting back off him just a little, Andy gazed down at Adam. "I want to, you know that, right?" he asked. Adam rolled his eyes.

"I know that. I do." He wriggled just a little against Andy then stopped. "Wait," he said, "I have the best idea. Go into the back lounge while I get some stuff." He pushed Andy off and scrambled to his feet, leaving Andy to pick himself up and shuffle through the doors, laughing quietly to himself. He should have known that Adam wouldn't care, even though Andy was still unsure about what he was doing. Relief made him a little giddy, and the kisses had left him half hard.

He slipped off his hoodie and shirt while waiting for Adam to come back, hoping that he'd remember to bring back a blanket, then unzipped his pants. Adam reappeared with a blanket and a wide smile as Andy pushed the denim down over his thighs, taking his boxers with them too. Adam's grin turned hot and hungry as he locked the door and crossed the room to drop the blanket over the back of the couch and watch Andy slide underneath it. He put down the little bottle he'd been carrying, but Andy only had eyes for Adam tugging off his hoodie and t-shirt, then sliding his pyjama pants down his legs and kicking them off. Slipping under the blanket after Andy, Adam settled between his legs, pressing a kiss to his throat and then a trail down over the bright lines of his tattoo and further. Andy moaned softly at the sensation of lips on his skin, cock sitting hard between his thighs, pressed into the soft flesh of Adam's belly. Adam scooted even lower, kissing and licking over Andy's stomach and hips, ignoring his cock.

"Gonna fuck you with my fingers," said Adam, into Andy's skin. "Gonna make you feel so good." Andy moaned, twisting under him. "I've only done this a few times," Adam continued, nipping his hipbone softly, "but it feels good. I wanna do it for you."

"Okay. Show me," he gasped. He wanted whatever Adam wanted to give him, skin hungry for more of Adam's lips and tongue. It was always hot when Adam took the lead, and the fact that Andy had never done this before just made it better. The first wet swipe of his fingers on the outside wasn't unfamiliar. He'd had girls do this to him before, just touch on the outside where the skin was thin and sensitive, and Adam had done it once or twice. He breathed deeply and concentrated on the hot, wet slide of Adam's lips over his cock instead of the slow wriggling of his finger. Throwing his head back, he gasped and panted as the first finger slid in. This was new, but Adam sank his mouth fully over Andy's cock and sucked hard, causing Andy to moan and sink back into the couch, relaxing around the intrusion.

Flinging his hands up over his head, Andy grabbed the armrest and held on tight, widening the space between his thighs for Adam to work in. Adam gave a particularly enthusiastic suck on his cock and slid two fingers into him at the same time. Andy twisted on the couch, feeling desperate and open under Adam's fingers as they wriggled inside him. Then Adam got them in all the way and Andy felt so full and just on the edge of uncomfortable.

"You're so gorgeous," said Adam, kissing Andy's hip. "Relax, you're doing so well, this is gonna feel so good." He twisted his fingers a little and Andy gasped as they skated over his prostate. The contact sent shivers up his spine and his legs opened even further.

"Fuck, do that again," he demanded. Adam pressed more kisses along his thigh and hip and stomach, sliding his fingers in a slow rhythm in and out of Andy's body. Gasping and shaking, Andy moved against the slick pressure of Adam's fingers .

"Knew you'd like this," said Adam. "You're so hot; you moan so prettily. Fuck, Andy, you're everything I could want." Andy arched his back and shoved himself down, trying to get more of Adam's fingers inside himself. This was so much better than he thought it could ever be. Adam opened his mouth over Andy's cock again, sucking him all the way to the base as he thrust harder and faster with his fingers. Andy knew he was making too much noise, even with his head turned to muffle the sound on the inside of his arm, but he'd never felt his skin crawl with arousal like this before. Adam was everywhere at once and so deep inside him. His orgasm started at the base of his spine, and Andy moaned Adam's name as his body started to stutter and clench, and he came hard and long, finally relaxing into the couch cushions and opening his eyes to see Adam braced above him.

"Fuck," said Adam, "Fuck, Andy, that was...." He trailed off, and Andy could see that he was frantically stroking his own cock. Before Andy could even get his hands to co-operate enough to touch him, Adam was coming in long stripes over Andy's belly and chest. Adam folded in on himself a little and Andy made his hands work enough to tug him close, not caring about the mess on his skin. He closed his eyes and pulled up the blanket, wrapping his arms tight around Adam's pliant body. He knew they should clean up before the come dried between them in an uncomfortable crust, but he didn't care about that any more than he cared about the lecture they would undoubtedly get from Bill in the morning.

"That fucking was," he agreed with Adam, sleepily.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Bob examined Mrotek's kick pedal again, turning it over in his hands. "How the hell did you manage to do this?" he asked, incredulously. He played the drums as hard as anyone, but he'd never managed to do _this_ to a kick pedal before.

"I told you, Bryar, I have no fucking idea," Mrotek answered. "But we're playing this evening, and Smith doesn't have a spare, so if you don't have one either, I need to panic a little."

"You've already asked Smith?" Bob asked. He had only seen Spencer - Smith, he reminded himself, fiercely - once or twice in the distance, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie and always, always moving away from Bob.

"Well, yeah, since I know he doesn't have a spare," said Mrotek, amping up the sarcasm. Bob barely noticed. "Jesus, Bryar, concentrate. Broken kick pedal. No spare. Need one or no drums."

"Fuck, Mrotek, what crawled up your ass?" grumbled Bob. He wasn't concentrating, and he knew it. It was so bad, Mikey, who possibly wouldn't notice being set on _fire_, had asked if he was okay. Still, he was aware enough to see Mrotek tense along every line of his body. Bob tilted his head, consideringly, and watched Mrotek open his mouth ready to retort, before the breath was knocked out of him by one of his bandmates, launching into his back.

"Sisky," groaned Mrotek, and Bob could hear the fondness and, maybe, nervousness in his voice in just that one word.

"They are after me, Butcher," said the other, wrapping both arms around Mrotek from behind and squeezing. "Have you found another kick pedal yet? I need you to save me." Mrotek raised one of his hands and squeezed Siska's hand lightly, running his fingers over the back of it, and tipped his head back and to the side, nuzzling into Siska's hair for just a second.

"I don't know yet," he replied, then looked at Bob. "Bryar? Do you have a kick pedal or not?" Bob jerked, as if waking suddenly.

"Yeah, I've got a spare. My tech keeps them. He'll find one for you." Mrotek smiled then, and Siska echoed it, his head popping over Mrotek's shoulder.

"That's great," he enthused. "Butcher and I can go and get it, and then Mike won't know I wasn't with him all along."

"Devious, Sisky," said Mrotek. "Thanks," he added to Bob. "I'll get you a replacement, just as soon as we're somewhere that isn't East Bumfuck, or wherever the hell we are."

"Don't worry about it," answered Bob. Siska slid away from Mrotek's back, but stayed close, and something clicked in Bob's head. "Actually, Mrotek, I had a question." His gaze slid to Siska and back, uncertain if he could say it in front of him, considering he was certainly no older than Spencer. Mrotek's gaze followed his.

"Adam, can you give us a moment?" he asked. Siska looked between the two of them curiously, but he just smiled sunnily and retreated a few steps down the hallway. Mrotek looked at Bob, a clear question in his eyes.

"You and Siska," said Bob, mumbling a little. "He's only eighteen, right?"

"It's his birthday tomorrow. Sweet legality in the entire damn country," said Mrotek.

"How does that. I mean, he's _eighteen_," said Bob, aware that he wasn't making much sense.

"So the rumours are true, then," said Mrotek. Bob looked at him sharply. "About you and one Spencer Smith," he clarified. "And the breaking point isn't your big gay freak out, it's that he's eighteen."

"Is everyone fucking talking?" growled Bob. Mrotek held up his hands in a warding off gesture.

"Tour, Bob Bryar. Everything gets found out, and the stuff that doesn't gets made up anyway, you know that."

Bob scrubbed his hand over his face. "Yeah," he said, suddenly tired. "Tour."

"So. The question?"

Bob just spread his hands wide. "I don't even know," he said.

"Fuck, man. You didn't see eighteen, not right up until you found out. Don't make that all you see now."

"Is that how you do it?" asked Bob.

"That's never been our problem," said Mrotek. "It's never been a number thing."

"Yours was the big gay freak out, then."

"Something like that," smiled Mrotek, wide and easy. Bob just shook his head and smiled slightly.

"You should go. Siska looks like he's going to die from curiousity."

"Yeah," said Mrotek. "And thanks for the pedal."

"No problem, man, no problem," said Bob. He shook his head sharply, hoping that would clear it a little. He missed Spencer, as much as it was possible to miss someone you had only flirted with for a few days; far more than he should have. He'd never even kissed him, but the longing for him was deep under his skin, sharper than the craving for a cigarette or a beer.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Andy leaned against the closed door behind him, watching Adam drop his bags next to one of the beds and spin around with a huge smile lighting up his face.

"Dude, lock the door and come here," he said. "It's my birthday, it's a hotel night, and how lucky is that?"

"Almost as lucky as avoiding Bill and Mike in the lobby and getting up here despite their plans for a party," answered Andy.

"Fuck, yes," Adam agreed. "Lock the door. Hell, barricade the door, Butcher. I wouldn't put it past either of them to try to get another key and break in."

Andy turned and slipped the chain onto the door, smiling when Adam plastered himself against his back. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," answered Adam. "Can we have a shower now? Then sprawl across that big, clean bed and get dirty?"

"I am totally with you because of your smooth, smooth moves, Sisky Business," said Andy, leaning his head back. He felt Adam press a smile and a kiss into his neck.

"My moves are made of awesome," he agreed. "Shower now?"

"Yeah, shower now," said Andy. He let Adam steer him over to the bed to drop his bags and then into the bathroom, pausing only to get out their toiletries bags. They separated long enough to strip, then Adam pushed him into the warm water and clambered in behind him, pressing up against his back again. Andy felt Adam's cock sitting half-hard against his ass and ground back against him. Groaning, Adam gripped his hips and thrust against him.

"Soap," he mumbled, into Andy's neck. "I bought mine in with me, so there are no excuses not to be squeaky clean and smelling wonderful." Andy groaned as Adam swiped his hands over his skin, holding the soap and letting it foam over him. The scent of sandalwood rose with the steam. He let Adam wash him, moving as directed, before finally turning right into the spray and rinsing off. Adam handed him the shampoo bottle with a smile and ducked his head under the water.

"Is this a hint?" asked Andy.

"It's my birthday. Wash my hair," demanded Adam, leaning back out of the spray. Andy snorted. It wasn't like he didn't wash Adam's hair when it wasn't his birthday. He dug his fingers into Adam's scalp, massaging all the tension out, and listened to the blissful noises he made. The first sizzle of arousal worked its way through his nerve endings. He watched the suds slide off Adam's skin under the hot water and wanted to follow their trails with his tongue and teeth. He wanted to leave behind marks that would last through the washing, that he could look at later and think about how his hand or mouth had been there, and the way the flesh had felt under his skin. Adam turned and kissed him, hooking his arms around his neck and pressing up close, all slick clean skin and demanding lips. Their cocks nudged together and Andy moaned.

"Out time?" he asked. Adam just nodded and turned off the water, pushing Andy out to drip on the floor until he wrapped himself in a towel and roughly dragged it over his skin. He was impatient to get his fingers back on Adam's skin, to taste the faint bitterness of soap and inhale until the lingering traces of sandalwood were covered up by clean, fresh sweat and come. Adam emerged from his towel with a grin that skated close to predatory, gaze raking over Andy with intent.

"Come on," he said, dropping his towel to the floor and dragging Andy, still clutching his, into the bedroom. "I want you now." His grin turned impish for a moment. "I'm anxious to get to deflower you, after all."

"Fuck you," replied Andy, laughing and letting the towel drop next to the bed. He knew, whatever he and Adam did, it would be spectacular. Adam let go of his wrist to dig through his bag and Andy crawled up onto the bed, shoving the scratchy polyester bedspread down and settling onto the crisp white sheets. Adam pulled a bottle of lube and a box of condoms out of his bag and smiled triumphantly.

"Aren't you the boy scout?" Andy teased. Laughing, Adam bounced up onto the bed next to him.

"How do you want to do this?" he asked, stroking his fingers up Andy's thigh. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I haven't done this a huge number of times either, so you have to tell me, okay?"

Andy nodded, linking his fingers with Adam's. "Yeah, I can do that," he said. "But it's your birthday, you should get everything you wish for."

"I just want you." Adam looked up at him seriously. "It doesn't matter what we do. I want you to choose. Let that be my present."

"Okay." He tugged Adam up and kissed him. "I want you to fuck me. Then, when we've recovered, I want you to ride me."

"You give me the best presents," said Adam, smiling happily. He reached for the lube, pressing another kiss to Andy's jaw, trailing little bites and licks up to his earlobe, before sucking gently on the soft skin. Andy squirmed underneath him, like he always did. Adam made him so happy and made him so hot at the same time. It was the perfect combination, and Andy felt his stomach tighten with arousal. Andy spread his legs wide and gave himself up to whatever Adam wanted, desire humming hard under his skin and his cock already curving up against his belly. The drag of Adam's fingers up his thighs made his nerves prickle with anticipation, and the first press of one finger inside him made him groan.

"This was a great idea," he said, fervently. Adam laughed, lightly, pulling back enough to add another finger as he kissed down Andy's neck and over his collarbones. Twisting his fingers, he rubbed them over Andy's prostate and bit his nipple at the same time. Andy jerked and moaned. "More," he said.

"Slowly," insisted Adam, his voice a little rough and uneven. "Want you so open and ready for me, baby. Want you begging me." He twisted his fingers again, scissoring them and stretching Andy open. Andy felt raw, on fire for Adam, and they'd only just started.

"Ready to beg you now," he said. Adam licked over his other nipple and added a third finger, easing them in and out gently, easing Andy through his momentary tension, until he was relaxed and pliant under him on the sheets. Adam hummed into Andy's chest, moving his fingers gently until Andy was nearly ready to cry with need, his voice cracked and strained around moans, endearments and pleas.

"Now?" Adam asked. He slid his fingers out slowly and fumbled a condom wrapper open.

"Fuck, yes, now," said Andy, keeping his legs spread wide. He reached for a pillow and shoved it under his ass. Adam's mouth was still shaped into a giant smile, edged with hunger and lust and he moved back between Andy's legs and pressed forward, slowly. Andy groaned and tried to relax, tried to open around the stretch and faint burn. Adam leaned his forehead against Andy's collarbone.

"Breathe through it," he urged. "Just breathe, it'll help." Andy concentrated on his breathing, and on the feeling of Adam all around him and above him, still smelling just a little like sandalwood but mostly like himself - sweaty and hot, skin damp even in the chill of the hotel air conditioning. He groaned again and snaked his hands up, clutching onto the headboard and arching up into Adam. "Fuck," Adam swore. "Fuck, Andy, just..." He eased in even further, and Andy moaned and opened around him.

He felt vulnerable, like he was stripped bare in front of Adam in a way he'd never been before. He hoped Adam could tell, like maybe this was his present to him after all. When Adam was buried as deep as he could go, he paused and pressed their faces together, breath gusting harshly in Andy's ear.

"Love you," murmured Andy. "Fuck, so much, want you so much." Adam pressed a rough kiss to his temple and pulled back, starting a slow rhythm of long smooth thrusts that scraped over Andy's prostate each time. Andy moaned and wrapped his legs high around Adam's waist, letting him move more easily. He was adjusting, relaxing more with each stroke, as the pleasure sparked over him every time. Then Adam did something, changed the angle, hitting even harder. Andy keened, high and loud and he would have been embarrassed, but he couldn't. He was being fucked, open and spread out for Adam, and he loved it. Adam's hand moved, sliding between them to wrap round Andy's cock, and he made that noise again, a long counterpoint to Adam's short, panting breaths.

His toes curled, his body tightening up and his skin prickling as he gasped and moaned Adam's name. He came hard, hands tightening on the headboard and body curling up in spite of that. Adam groaned, thrusts turning erratic, and shuddered to a halt a few moments later, bending over Andy and breathing hard, barely holding himself up on shaking arms. He slowly folded himself down, dropping off to the side as he carefully pulled out, sliding off the condom with trembling fingers. Andy rolled over and buried himself against Adam, snuggling into him as closely as possible. He sighed in relief when Adam threw the condom somewhere off the bed and wrapped his arms around him. He hadn't expected to feel this rush of emotion afterwards, but the hot press of Adam's hands down his back, and the rise and fall of his chest, reassured him. They lay curled together closely, giving themselves a breathing space from the rest of the world. Andy slowly felt more like himself, more balanced and more like he fit inside his own skin.

"I told you I'd be gentle," said Adam, finally, and his voice was soft, almost hesitant. Propping himself up on one arm, Andy smiled down at him.

"Yeah, you did. I'm glad I saved my ass virginity for you," he said, and even though his words were sarcastic, his tone was heartfelt. Adam tugged him down for a kiss. He broke it off to laugh when there was a sudden banging on the door.

"Butcher! Sisky! We know you're in there, and we totally heard you having sex. You've finished now, so you have to come out and party, and also, Butcher moans like a whore," shouted Bill, through the wood.

"Fuck off," shouted Adam. "If we have to get up, there has to be_ cake_. And we're gonna come straight back here for _more sex_."

Andy just laughed into the sheets. How was this even his fucking life?

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Bob shifted from side to side outside the door, stepping out of the way as Beckett and Carden stalked down the hallway, arguing quietly but viciously, by the looks of it. He raised his hand to knock, letting it fall again without touching the wood. He still didn't know what he should say, what he could possibly say. He squared his shoulders and knocked sharply. He would figure it out, but there was no point if Spencer wouldn't even talk to him.

The door opened, and Bob blinked. Ryan Ross stood in front of him with his arms folded over his chest, glaring. He looked a little like a ruffled kitten, but Bob was sure that Ross would be able to fuck him up in some devious and hideous way, if need be.

"Bryar," he said. "Did you suddenly think of some new way to make Spencer feel like shit and have to share it?"

"No," Bob replied. Ross snorted and started to shut the door. Bob jammed his foot into the space. "I was wrong," he said, "and I want to apologise to Spencer."

"That's all?" Ross's face was still mostly expressionless, but Bob was fairly sure he could see scepticism there.

"No. Fuck, no," confessed Bob. He wanted to push Ross out of the way and just find Spencer himself, but he didn't think that annoying Ross would do him any favours when he did get to talk with Spencer. "I want more. I want him to give me another chance."

"Spencer is in the shower right now," Ross announced. "So I'm afraid you have to start by convincing me, in the next two minutes, that you deserve another chance. I do not have any kind of inexplicable and bizzare thing for you, so I'm afraid just looking hot and glowering is not going to work on me. Try some explaining."

Bob glanced over his shoulder, but the corridor was deserted. The last thing he needed was for someone to see him crawling meekly in front of Ryan Ross, of all people. "Can't I do this inside?"

"No, and the two minutes I have given you are wasting away."

"Fuck, Ross, I freaked out, okay? I really like him, like, more than just a tour hook-up." Bob looked down at his feet. He could hardly believe he was spilling his guts to Ryan fucking Ross, who was fucking nineteen himself, but he'd been desperate since he'd left Spencer next to the bus. "And teenagers aren't usually interested in anything serious." He kept his eyes cast down, hoping that that would be enough to get him in to see Spencer.

"Ryan," said Spencer, and Bob looked up to see him, towel wrapped round his cocked hips, standing in the middle of the room. "Can you give us some time?" Ross turned, and Bob thought he might have said something, but he couldn't hear anything; he was too totally wrapped up in Spencer. Ross pushed past him, finally, and Spencer looked directly at Bob for the first time.

"Are you going to come in?" Spencer asked, face carefully blank. Bob stepped inside and shut the door behind him, unsure of where to go from there. Spencer uncrossed his arms from across his chest and put his hands on his hips instead. "I don't know what to be most angry about," he said. "But I think I'm most angry that you thought that me being eighteen meant that I couldn't be actually interested in more than just fucking you."

"I was wrong. I hope I was wrong."

"You were so fucking wrong. I was so into you, you can't even know."

"Is it too late?" Bob asked. This was the important question. He didn't have anything more to say, just hoped that what he had was enough. He looked at Spencer, considering him from the middle of the room, still just wrapped in his towel. Bob couldn't even concentrate on the smooth, pale planes of his body, he was too nervous that maybe Spencer wasn't into him anymore, that maybe he'd fucked up too much.

"It should be too late," said Spencer.

"It should be?"

"I should kick your ass out of here for being a dick."

"But you're not going to?" Spencer dropped his hands from his hips, looking lost and a little troubled. Bob's palms itched with the need to touch him. "Please, Spencer, I'm sorry," Bob said. "I just want to make it better."

Spencer smiled then, tiny and a little shaky, but it was there, and Bob sighed in relief. "Come here," Spencer said, opening up his arms to Bob in invitation. Bob crossed the room in three strides, arms sliding round Spencer like they were meant to fit together. He felt Spencer's hands on his back, clenched tight in the thin cotton of his t-shirt, face buried in Bob's shoulder. Spencer smelled like soap, vaguely like apples, maybe, and clean skin underneath it all. Bob breathed deep, his hands spread wide under Spencer's shoulder blades so he could memorise the feel of his skin under his palms. Spencer pushed closer, nuzzling into his neck and breathing deeply himself. Bob thought that he probably smelled like cigarettes and the cold outside.

Spencer shifted, just a little, bringing his hips up against Bob and changing the embrace instantly from comfort to foreplay. Bob bent his head lower, brushing his lips over Spencer's temple before drifting down to touch the shell of his ear, eliciting a little shiver. Bob felt the dig of nails into his shoulders for just a second, then the slow slide of Spencer's palms down and under the hem of his shirt, rucking it up just enough to get the tips of his fingers on skin. His own fingers twitching against the smooth skin of Spencer's back, Bob sunk his teeth gently into Spencer's earlobe.

"If you want me to stop," he said, whispering into Spencer's ear, "you'd better tell me now."

"Your chivalry is touching," said Spencer, pulling back just enough to glare at him. "But don't you fucking dare stop."

Bob grinned, looking down at the high flush starting to crawl over Spencer's cheekbones, and the way his lips parted and his tongue flickered out over them, leaving them shiny and inviting. Spencer reached up and twined his hand in Bob's hair, tugging hard to bring his head down.

"You take too damn long," he muttered, tilting his face to match Bob's and kissing him hard. Digging his teeth into Bob's lower lip, then tracing his tongue over his lip ring, Spencer opened Bob up and licked, wet and so hot, into his mouth. Bob groaned into the kiss, the first rough slide of their tongues together sending sparks over his skin. He was already hard, trapped uncomfortably in his jeans, and he could feel Spencer's dick digging into his thigh even through the thick cotton of his towel. His hands roamed restlessly over Spencer's back, tugging him even closer.

Spencer pulled back finally, licking his lips. They were red and swollen, and his eyes were dark. He stepped back, out of Bob's reach, and twitched the towel open, letting it drop to the floor. He let Bob look for a long moment before turning and walking over to the bed and tugging back the blankets. He crawled up and settled on his back against the pillows. He looked sinful, all sprawled pale limbs and inviting gaze. Bob took a step closer.

"You should be naked now," Spencer said. Bob thought he could maybe see just a slice of anxiety, like maybe Spencer hadn't done this very much before, even though he was trying to hide that. He wanted this to be everything Spencer thought it might be; he wanted to give Spencer things he hadn't even known he wanted. Tugging up his t-shirt, Bob stripped slowly, putting on a little bit of a show. He watched Spencer watch him, as he kicked off his shoes and stripped off his socks before dropping his jeans and shoving down his boxers. He crawled across the bed, lying on his side, facing Spencer and propped up on one elbow, his hand resting possessively on Spencer's belly.

"So you don't want chivalry," he said, "and you don't want me to mess around. What do you want, Spencer Smith?"

Spencer tipped his head on the pillow and smiled at Bob, just a little nervously. "I told you once that I wanted something a little more challenging. Do you think you can give me that, Bob Bryar?"

"I can give you whatever you need," said Bob. "But, for now, why don't you tell me what you want us to do right now? For our first time together?" Bob felt Spencer inhale deeply, and leaned a little closer to press a kiss to his shoulder.

"I want you to kiss me," said Spencer. "Then I want your mouth, want you to hold me down and suck my cock. Then, when I'm shaking and incoherent and you've taken me apart, I want you to fuck me, and let me come back together underneath you."

Bob's breath caught. Spencer was asking him for exactly what he wanted. He couldn't believe his luck. "I'm so fucking glad I got my shit together," he said, fervently, and didn't wait for an answer before he pushed forward, bracing himself over Spencer and leaning in for a kiss that was all slick tongue and rough brushes of lips. Spencer moaned underneath him, hands coming up to dig into his shoulders. "You're so fucking perfect," Bob said, breaking from the kiss to mouth over Spencer's neck and throat. Spencer moaned again, and Bob smiled into his skin, edging lower to suck his nipples one at a time. Spencer squirmed against the sheets and gasped. Bob carefully kept his body up, away from Spencer's, unwilling for either of them to get off yet.

He wriggled down the bed, kneeling between Spencer's thighs. Spencer's hands dropped from his shoulders, fisting instead in the sheets. Bob looked up at him, at his eyes so dark and hungry, the faint red marks of his mouth on Spencer's throat and chest, then down to where his cock rested on his belly, hard and leaking already. Bob's mouth went dry and he swallowed hard.

"Lube," he said. "I'm going to open you up while I suck your cock." Spencer moaned, like just the thought was driving him closer to the edge.

"In my bag," he gasped. "Side pocket."

Bob slid off the bed and grabbed the duffel, digging through the side pocket and pulling out a box of condoms and a half-full bottle of lube. He turned back to the bed, looking at Spencer laying where he left him, looking wrecked and desperate with his hands still clutching the sheet. "Fuck," Bob said, dropping the supplies on the bed by Spencer's hip and shifting to kneel up between his thighs. He rubbed his hands slowly up the length of Spencer's thighs and dropped his head to nuzzle at his hip. "Touch me," he said, pressing a kiss into the skin.

Spencer dug one hand into Bob's hair, threading through the strands, twisting hard as Bob opened his mouth over Spencer's cock and sank most of the way down. Bob didn't mess round; he knew that Spencer needed this hard and fast. He fumbled open the lube and slid one finger in as he opened his throat around the rest of Spencer's cock and sucked hard. Spencer sobbed above him, rocking between his finger and his mouth.

"More, more, please," he begged, and Bob complied. He added more lube, twisting his fingers and feeling the answering twist of Spencer's fingers and the hitch in his breathing. Bob felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin with wanting Spencer, whose moans and broken voice were addictive; who wanted him. Maybe needed him in a way Bob had long since stopped looking for. He sucked hard and stretched his fingers apart, wanting this to be perfect for Spencer. Bob pulled off and panted into Spencer's hip, needing a moment to breathe and regain some control. Spencer's hand softened in his hair, stroking through it, but he didn't stop the quick rocking of his hips.

"You're beautiful," said Bob hoarsely, pulling back and slicking his fingers again, adding a third. He looked up the long lines of Spencer's torso to the way his head was flung back on the pillow, breathing in great gasps. He smiled down at Bob, tugging on the strands between his fingers. Then Bob slid all three fingers back in, and Spencer arched in a graceful curve, a broken moan ripping from his throat. "Want this to be the best you've ever had," Bob said, twisting his fingers.

"It already is," gasped Spencer. "Never had someone give me this. Not this way." Bob groaned into Spencer's skin and concentrated on the slow opening of his body, determined not to rush, and clinging to his own control. He felt a fierce surge of pride and possessiveness as Spencer moaned and shoved himself down on Bob's fingers, letting Bob take him apart. Trusting Bob to put him back together.

"Ready?" asked Bob, not sure how much longer he could wait.

"Yes, yes, please," begged Spencer. Bob drew his fingers out slowly, rubbing his free hand gently over Spencer's side.

"It's okay. You don't have to beg me. I'm gonna give you what you need." Spencer nodded and tugged Bob up to lie braced over him, kissing him with a frantic edge of want and desperation. Bob kissed back, soothing Spencer with the slow rub of his fingers over Spencer's side, and the slow rhythm of his tongue and teeth. Spencer gradually stilled and quietened, and when Bob drew back, his face was almost dreamy, except for the lewdness of his wet mouth and sleepy eyes.

Lifting Spencer's legs over his shoulders, Bob fumbled open a condom and slicked it on, adding more lube. Bob watched Spencer, folded up and pliant underneath him, opening for his cock with a soft sigh of satisfaction. His head rolled on the pillows, mouth open and gasping, so open and vulnerable that Bob had to stop for a moment and breathe deeply before finishing his long slide inside. Spencer was all tight heat around him, and he lifted his hands to feather over Bob's shoulders and down his chest. He looked blissful, like he was in no hurry, though Bob could feel the hardness of his cock trapped between their bodies and knew it wouldn't take much for him to come, for either of them to come.

Bob set a slow pace, dragging it out as much as he could. Spencer sighed and moaned softly underneath him as he rocked in time with Bob's long, deliberate strokes. Hands tracing shaky patterns on Bob's skin, Spencer was gorgeous spread out underneath him. Bob moved a little faster, causing Spencer to groan louder and dissolve into a string of incomprehensible words. He arched his back, working himself down on Bob's cock as much as he could, panting. His moans got louder with each stroke, fingers clutching Bob's skin.

"Fuck, Bob, so close," he said, breaking into a soft sob. He fixed his eyes on Bob for a long moment before they fluttered closed. He clenched hard around Bob, toes curling against the air and fingers into Bob's shoulders, cock jerking between them and spilling over his belly and chest. Bob was transfixed by his face, barely noticing his own orgasm approaching until it crested and overwhelmed him with a flood of sensation, hot and sharp all over his skin and through his spine. He knew he was saying something, maybe Spencer's name, but he wasn't sure what.

He finally came back to himself, hunched over Spencer and breathing hard, and pulled out slowly and carefully. He dropped the condom over the edge of the bed and scooped up Spencer's discarded towel. He carefully cleaned Spencer's stomach, pressing kisses to the skin as he wiped it clean. He shoved the towel to the side and lay back with a satisfied sigh. Spencer rolled over lazily and plastered himself up along Bob's side, half on top of him and breathing into his neck. Bob looked up at the ceiling and drifted contentedly, feeling Spencer relaxed and boneless against him.

"That was amazing," Spencer said at last. "I'm glad I gave you a second chance."

Bob laughed a little, rousing himself enough to card his fingers through Spencer's hair. "I am so relieved. Thank you."

"Don't think this gets you out of making it up to me," warned Spencer, ruining his threatening words with a tiny murmur of sleepy contentment as Bob scratched his fingers over the nape of his neck.

"I'll make it up to you as often as possible," promised Bob. They lay in companionable silence for a little longer. Bob was just thinking about sleeping when Spencer poked him gently in the side.

"Pull up the blankets, will you? Ryan might come back."

Bob's eyes shot open. "Here?" he asked.

"It's possible," answered Spencer, sleepily, "though he's probably in with Brendon and Brent by now."

"He's going to eat my liver with a teaspoon," Bob said mournfully.

"I'll protect your liver," said Spencer. "Pull up the blankets. Your internal organs will be a lot harder to eat if they're under the covers."

Bob tugged at the blankets and sheets and got them under them as best he could.

"It would probably help if the lights were out, too. No way he can get a spoon near you if he can't see you, right?" Spencer's voice was sleepy and amused now, and Bob snorted. He could see how things were going to go between them, and it felt right, even as he dragged himself out of the bed and stumbled to the lightswitch. When he stubbed his toe on the way back, and listened to Spencer laugh at him in the dark, he laughed too. This was perfect.


End file.
